


Returning to You

by love4books



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 11:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18716332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love4books/pseuds/love4books
Summary: Gendry's POV of the events after the Battle of Winterfell and his desperate search to find his fierce warrior, Arya Stark.





	Returning to You

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot believe we have been blessed with Gendrya content in the new season of Game of Thrones. Like many Gendrya shippers, I can't help but imagine what their meeting after the war will be like. This is my little take on what I picture and wanted to share with all of you~ 
> 
> (I'm terrible with titles so if anyone has a suggestion, after reading, share your opinions with me~)

He hasn't seen her. Not after it all began. Not even a little glimpse to assure him of her survival. In the midst of it all, he was hammering away at the dead with all the might he could muster, determined to come out alive. He should have tried harder to keep an eye on her, not only for if she needed help but for his own sanity.

But here he is, left with little of his mentality intact. He’s a man possessed, with one goal in mind. As he runs, rampaging through the carnage, he's brought to a screeching stop. It wasn’t the dead or his exhaustion, not even the sight of countless bodies of the fallen, piled high like a monument that had Gendry falling to his knees. No, it was the sight of the staff he made Arya that had his knees go weak and out from under him. It was there, a lost relic among the havoc. The first sign of Arya since the start and not a very reassuring one. Arya clearly fought hard as each end of the weapon was covered in blood. But she's nowhere to be found. 

_Where is she?_

Gendry picks up the staff, holding it tight, the only piece of Arya he has now. The fight may be over, but he has a personal mission he must complete. A new fire and fury propel him back to his feet, helping him surge forward with the strength of the stag that runs through his blood. He scours every inch of the area where he found the staff, blood pumping so furiously that he hears it pound in his eardrums. But only bodies of nameless men greet him. He mourns them, but Gendry can't help the relief that rushes through him each time her lifeless body was not among them.

He keeps moving forward. Looking around as other familiar faces break into view. He sees the Hound, already slugging back a wineskin, sitting on a pile of wights. Jon’s friend, Sam runs into his sight, dashing across the courtyard, in the direction of the crypt, seemingly on a mission similar to Gendry’s. He wants to shout Arya’s name, as panic sets in, her absence, even more prominent, as others resurface, but he bites his tongue, not wanting to alert others of his distress. He instead bounds forward in silence, hoping that he will get lucky and find her unharmed.

Gendry hauls himself over a mound of bodies, coming to face Ser Brienne and Jaime Lannister. They both pull the squire, Podrick, out from under a dead one. Brienne sees him and nods, wearing a look of shock and relief on her features. “Have you seen Arya?” His voice cracks and he does his best to keep composure as Brienne shakes her head, looking at Jaime and Podrick who reply with a resounding no. Gendry gives them a grim smile before moving on, once again searching the battleground.

His body is heated with embers still radiating warmth to his muscles, keeping all his cogs in motion. And yet, his teeth chatter and his hands shake so viciously that he has trouble moving bodies around. _I never had a family_. Never had a family until Arya Stark walked into his life and made him questions what family meant. Gendry believed he had the answer, but as he flips another body around, having blank eyes stare back at him, he knows now he couldn’t have been more wrong. Gendry stands up, throws his head back, exasperated. He thought the Brotherhood was the family he desired. But it was the fiery girl who insulted him and never told anything but the truth that was meant to be his family.

Gendry hears commotion emerge from the area close to the castle. There, a mass of reunions takes place. Gendry wishes to join, but from his vantage point, the person that matters most to him is evidently missing. 

Gendry cannot remember the last place he looked. He’s frustrated, emotionally drained, and feels resentment at the people behind him who so easily have been reunited with their loved ones. But his muscles continue to pump with adrenaline that pushes him away from the group keeping him searching, leaving no corpse unturned. Picking through the ashes of the fallen in hopes of finding her.

Gendry feels the heats from the suns rays, creep onto his back. He begins turning towards the light, thinking it’ll be a helpful hand in his hunt for his lady. 

And he's right.

The light has dimmed his darkness.

His search is over.

Arya stands ahead of Gendry a picture of ruins, a haggard mess, with half her face smothered in blood, dirt, and sweat. Her clothes are hit just as hard with gore, covered in rips that that must have snagged on teeth or claws. The frantic beat of his heart that hammered in his chest during his personal quest suddenly began to slow. His desperate hands that shuddered with every lifeless turn of a mangled body, have steadied. The sight of her made him vastly calm. He stares at her for a moment, waiting for her to vanish as if she was a shadow that was created by the rising sun. But she remains, also taking him in with her eyes gazing over every inch of him. So Gendry steps forward, one step after another. He doesn’t run, still unsure of what he is facing. She watches as he shortens the distance between them. Her brows are knit tightly together, her stoic expression seemingly becoming less controlled the closer he comes as the tremble in her parted lips and the tightening of her hands into balled fists show. Yet, she remains still, waiting for him.

The beams of the sun breaking behind the clouds envelop around Arya, a halo of splendor and the sight had him second-guessing once more if she truly was alive. Maybe he was dead. And this was a vision the Old Gods and the New created for him to feel welcomed in his second life. But, with a few more stumbling steps, Gendry finally found himself in front of her. He moves close, leaving barely a sliver of space between them. Gendry's chest heaves with each intake of breath. He can hear Arya’s breath mimic his, her stare and the heat that radiate from her hits him like his hammer to an anvil. 

She is here.

He hangs his head low, wanting to face her on, but cannot. Tears begin to build and blur his vision, the fact that he finally found her, a bloody mess, but undoubtedly alive is bringing forth all the emotions he tried to suppress. He hasn't touched her yet. He's scared. He doesn't know why. He's been wanting to touch her again like he was granted by her before in the storage room. But he cannot face her, the feebleness keeping him unsure of his actions. So silently lifting his hands from his side, he grips her biceps holding on to her.

She’s real.

His hands didn’t reach out and fall on a mirage, but strong muscles and warm flesh. The same arms he had wrapped around him a few hours ago. Gendry felt the exhaustion from the fight and the fatigue from relief at the sight of Arya strike him with vengeance and he no longer could keep himself up. He slowly slid down to his knees, his grip on Arya the only tether keeping him from losing control fully. He places his forehead against her stomach, gasping out huffs of air and trying to measure his breaths with her breathing. But Arya’s mask couldn’t hide the trembles of her body and he knows she too is feeling overwhelmed. 

“You’re alive. You’re alive...” he mutters those two words over and over and cannot seem to stop. He grips her tightly his fingers grasping at her fiercely and he knows he must be hurting her but she doesn’t pull away. He feels her hand lightly brush at his hair and the other cupping his face. Her touch sends a shockwave of shivers that have his teeth chattering even more than the cold the Night King created. Arya bends down, mirroring his position, still holding his face, and her other hand joins.

She lightly lifts his face so he must look at her. Gendry blinks away the tears, which run cold down his face from the crisp air. Arya is staring at him with a look that he has seen her wear once before, as she declared, “ _I can be your family_.” He rejected her then. But now, he would be her family. She is his only family. He needs her. He cannot see a future if she isn’t a part of it.

Her eyes remained locked on his, her fingers that cup his neck, gently caress him. Arya’s lips part. He doesn’t miss the quiver of her bottom lip or the scared glint in her eye at the vulnerability we're both portraying. Even more so then we did when we had our clothes off. But her voice comes out steady and with the affirmation he needed.

“I’m here.”

Those two words have him reaching up to her face and softly kissing her lips, kissing her cheek, her neck, the skin above the cut in her forehead. Every inch he can to persuade himself that she is alive, she is here and they both made it to the new dawn.

Gendry and Arya stay kneeling, holding each other for a length of time that has the sun reaching over the clouds. They fuss over the wounds of the other and caress each bruise without speaking. Words were never either of their strong suits unless they were throwing out wise remarks. He swipes at her lips with the pad of his thumb, kissing her once more, her lips tasting of blood, but he didn’t care. She was alive and they were together.

He leans his forehead on hers, both taking the moment to control their unsteady breaths. Arya is the one to break away, the loss of contact a shock of cold where her warmth once encompassed. She sighs, “My family...” Arya’s thumb trails against his chin, holding his face with hands that he knows are usually not so gentle. He revels in the feeling of her touch, hoping he will never live without that feeling ever again. Arya seems to not want to move as much as him, but there’s more to be done, and as a lady of Winterfell, she's needed.

Gendry stands on sore legs, pulling Arya up with him. Her hand moves away from him, but her gaze lingers for a moment. The look in her eyes is the only promise he needs to know that whatever comes next, they’re in it together. Arya turns away from him, leaning over and picking up the staff Gendry kept with him, twirling it her hands as she walks in the direction of the castle. Gendry follows without hesitation, always willing and ready to follow his lady wherever she leads.


End file.
